


Warmth

by hopeintheashes



Series: Home [1]
Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Cuddling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, Love, M/M, Sickfic, Sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:40:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27761647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeintheashes/pseuds/hopeintheashes
Summary: As Buck finds out, sometimes you can't just keep pushing through.Eddie and Christopher are there to put the pieces back together.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley & Christopher Diaz & Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Series: Home [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2034745
Comments: 36
Kudos: 368





	Warmth

. . .  
. . .

“Ready?”

Buck blinks back at him, and shakes himself out of whatever trance he seems to be in. “Yeah. Ready.” 

Eddie grins. “Well then, grab your shit, we’re headed for the mountains.” 

Buck smiles back, but it’s tired, half-hearted, and he’s absentmindedly rubbing his hands up and down his arms. He’s got a longsleeve shirt on, but it doesn’t seem to be enough. 

“Cold?” It’s winter, sure, but winter in L.A.: Eddie’s in a t-shirt, still warm from putting the last of the gear away. 

“I...” Buck trails off, and then blinks his way back into focus again. “Yeah. Kinda.” 

Eddie digs around in his duffel, comes up with a hoodie, and tosses it his way. He catches the way Buck’s face pulls tight when he thinks Eddie’s not looking, and frowns. “You good?” 

Buck schools his face in an instant. Pulls on the hoodie. Stands a little taller than before. “Yeah.” 

“You sure? Because we could...” Well, that’s the problem right there, actually. Eddie had given Buck a ride to work that morning, filling the bed of his pickup with their combined winter gear and a long weekend’s worth of groceries so that they can leave right from shift, get to Christopher’s school in time for dismissal, and still make it to their rented cabin at a reasonable hour. If Buck’s not up for going, they’ll still need to head to the school first so they don’t miss pick-up, then they’ll have to untangle his stuff from Eddie and Christopher’s, get him and his bags back to his place, and finally start the long drive to the mountains late and without a second driver.

He knows Buck can see him doing the calculations, and sighs. He starts to apologize, to say that they can make it work, but Buck cuts him off. 

“I’m good.” He grins, and it’s stronger this time. “Really.” He picks up his bags and starts walking for the door so that Eddie is the one off-balance and following. “C’mon, we’re gonna be late.” 

They’re far back in the pick-up line but not actually late. When they get to the front of the line, Buck jumps out of the truck and throws his arms wide. Christopher squeals with delight and comes running, that beautiful loping gait, and Buck catches him and spins him around like they’re the only two people in the world. Sometimes Christopher feels as much _theirs_ as his, the way Buck loves this kid— fierce love, tear-down-the-world love— and it takes Eddie’s breath away every time. The teacher on pick-up duty is coming their way, shaking her head like she’s going to remind them of the “stay in your car, we’ll bring the kids to you” rule, but she’s smiling like there won’t be any heat in it. Like she’s as dazzled by Buck as everybody else. He’s apologizing and laughing and helping Christopher get buckled in, and then he leaves the front passenger seat all the way forward and climbs in next to Christopher in the back, already deep in conversation about his day at school. Like that’s the perfectly natural thing to do, legroom be damned.

Apparently the entire city of L.A. has decided that school dismissal on the Friday of a long weekend is the perfect time to head out of town, and the traffic is even more hellish than usual. He puts some music on, and listens to his boys in the backseat, and forces his shoulders to come down. 

By the time they break out of the worst of it, just as the city is giving way to the beginnings of something rural, it’s very clear that it’s time for a break. Eddie fills up the gas tank while Buck and Christopher head inside to find the bathroom and, Eddie is quite sure, some snacks that would not normally be on the list of choices for his kid. 

When they get back to the truck, Buck stretches and groans. “Okay, Chris, I’ve gotta keep your dad awake. You good with that audiobook you were telling me about?” 

“Uh-huh.” Christopher nods, already getting settled in with his headphones and his snack and his sparkling water. (Eddie had drawn the line at candy _and_ soda; both Buck and Christopher had whined in melodramatic unison and then burst out laughing and decided that LaCroix was fancy enough.) “It’s a mystery,” he explains to Eddie, as if Eddie hadn’t been listening to him retell the whole plot to Buck for the last twenty minutes. “In space. The crew think that aliens are messing with their ship. But _I_ think—” he pauses for dramatic effect— “it’s one of _them_.” 

Eddie laughs and reaches over to mess up Christopher’s hair before he checks to make sure he’s buckled and shuts the door. “You’ll have to let us know what you find out, Mr. Space Detective.” Christopher grins back and settles in, hitting play on his book before the door is even closed. 

Buck is leaning against the rear bumper, waiting for him. With Christopher, he was animated, excited. Now, he’s slumped and exhausted. When he sees Eddie, though, he straightens up. “Do you want me to take a turn driving?” 

Eddie’s laugh is short and disbelieving. “Buck, I wouldn’t give you the keys to a golf cart right now.” He ghosts a hand over Buck’s shoulder and tries to keep his tone light. “Have you not been sleeping?” The look that crosses Buck’s face makes it very clear that both no, he hasn’t, and no, he doesn’t want to talk about it. Eddie lets it go. “I’m good, Buck; we’re out of the traffic, the rest is easy.” 

“Okay.” Buck’s got his eyes closed, his head tipped back. “Yeah.” Eddie frowns at him, but decides that the best thing for all of them is to just get back on the road. Buck pushes off the bumper and heads for the front. Eddie hesitates, then follows him. Gets back in the driver’s seat and starts the engine, but doesn’t put it in gear.

“Hey, Christopher?” 

“Yeah?” He takes out one earbud. 

“Can you hand me one of the blankets from back there?” There’s a couple of old quilts that live in the truck permanently, worn soft with age but still plenty warm. 

“Mhmm.” He hands it up to the front and goes back to his book. 

Eddie drops the blanket in Buck’s lap while putting the truck in gear so that Buck won’t have time to protest before they’re back on the road. Buck takes a breath like he’s going to anyway, then gives in and burrows into it. Eddie smiles to himself and turns back onto the main road. 

He means to drive the rest of the way in one go— it’s not that far, now— but the sun is starting to set just as they’re rising up into the mountains and it’s too perfect not to stop. He pulls into the overlook and slides into the last marked spot. Christopher looks up and makes a noise of awe, taking out his headphones and motioning for Eddie to get out of the truck so that he can, too. Eddie flips the seat forward and lifts him down, and Christopher immediately has his phone out, taking pictures of the view from every angle he can find. Buck is slow to move, looking up at him from across the cab, confused. “Check out the sunset,” Eddie tells him, and closes the door so he can go after Christopher. 

Buck follows, still wrapped in the quilt. Eddie slips an arm around his shoulders. Rests his head on Buck’s, cheekbone to forehead. He’s half-expecting fever, but Buck is cold to the touch. He pulls him closer, and Buck leans into the embrace. 

“Dad, Buck, look!” Christopher is trying to point to his phone and the sunset and make his way back to them all without losing his purchase on his crutches in the loose gravel of the turnout. “It’s so bright.” 

“Excuse me, would one of you mind taking our picture?” A middle-aged woman with her husband, next to them in the overlook. “And then we can take one of your family, if you’d like.” 

“Can I do it, Dad?” Christopher is already heading her way, showing off his photography skills to her. “Look, I took this picture, I got the framing right and everything.” 

“Sure, bud. Go for it.” He’s still a little dazed from the way the woman said _your family;_ the way it felt perfectly right; the way Christopher didn’t even blink. He leaves his arm around Buck for another moment and then lets go so he can get a look at him. “You up for a picture?” 

A tired grin. “Always.” 

When it’s their turn, Eddie hands the woman his phone and picks up Christopher so that their smiling faces are all in frame together. Behind them, the sky is brilliant red and orange and the moon is just starting to come up, and the woman is exclaiming over how beautifully the picture came out as she hands back his phone. He sends the photo to Buck and then sets it as his lockscreen. When he looks over, Buck has done the same. 

They watch the sunset until it’s gone, fading into the dark blues of dusk, and then climb back into the truck. Christopher has moved from the middle spot to the seat behind Buck, and when Eddie looks back a few miles later, he’s leaned against the window, asleep. Buck is a mirror image in the front seat, buried under the old quilt, eyebrows furrowed in a way that suggests he’s not actually asleep but is trying for it. Eddie turns the music down low and watches the stars come out as they wind up the mountain road. 

It’s not really that late when they arrive, it just feels that way with sun setting so early. It’s been a long week, too. Things at the station have been as busy as ever, and Eddie’s gotten emails from Christopher’s teacher, OT, and PT this week that are all variations on the same theme: He’s doing great, he worked super hard today, he’s going to be tired when he comes home. They all need the long weekend, for sure. 

Neither Buck nor Christopher stirs when Eddie pulls up to their rental cabin and shuts off the truck. He lets it be for a minute, listening to the crackle of the engine cooling down, then finds the part of the blanket that looks most like Buck’s knee and shakes it gently. Buck blinks up at him. “We’re here.” Buck nods, and moves like he’s very deliberately not letting himself sink back into sleep. 

By the time Eddie’s uncovered the truck bed and dropped the tailgate, Buck’s already got Christopher out of the truck, carrying him like he’s five instead of nine, Christopher’s arms wrapped around his neck, crutches in Buck’s free hand. Eddie checks his phone for the lock code and reads it out to Buck: “Seventy-six fourteen.” Buck nods, eyes still mostly closed, and starts making his way to the house. There’s snow on the ground, and more in the forecast for tonight. 

Eddie takes a minute to prioritize, and then follows them with the first round of bags, including the one with the casserole dish that Pepa had sent with them: lasagna for their first night, so they wouldn’t have to cook. When he gets to the house, Christopher is exploring and Buck is leaning against the kitchen counter, trying to stay awake. He pushed himself upright when he sees Eddie. “Here, I’ll come get some of the bags—” 

Eddie shakes his head. “You’re in charge of warming up the lasagna, and finding the plates and forks, and helping Christopher get settled. I’ve got the bags. Okay?” 

Buck nods, and it looks like relief. It’s cold outside, cold enough for the snow they’re expecting that night, and Eddie’s hoodie is the warmest thing that Buck’s got on. 

Buck had left the quilt on the front seat, so Eddie brings it up with the next round of bags, and drops it on the couch. Buck and Christopher have the lasagna warming up in the pre-heating oven, and they’ve already picked bedrooms, leaving the master for Eddie, which he feels is unnecessary but not worth fighting them on. 

By the time he’s moved all of the bags and snow gear up to the house, Buck has sunk into the couch and pulled the quilt over his legs. Christopher is watching him from the kitchen. “Dad, is Buck okay?” His voice is never really loud, but it’s even quieter now, hushed so Buck won’t overhear. 

“It’s been a long week, buddy. I think he just needs some time to rest.” He thinks for a minute, trying to figure out how to keep Buck from jumping up to help when he starts unpacking the bags. “Do you want to have him listen to your book with you?” 

“Yeah!” Christopher is already heading for the couch. “Hey Buck, can I show you my book again?” 

By the time Eddie’s gotten everything put away, Buck is asleep, leaned into the corner of the sectional with Christopher curled up beside him. Christopher gives him a thumbs up, a proud co-conspirator. Eddie laughs to himself and gives a thumbs up back. 

They eat, and Buck doesn’t faceplant in his lasagna, but it’s a near thing. Eddie deputizes him to put Christopher to bed— Christopher’s old enough that he can do it himself but not so old that he doesn’t want someone to tuck him in and read to him and stay until he’s asleep, and Eddie’s holding onto that for as long as he can— while he cleans up the kitchen. When he goes in to check on them, Buck’s asleep in the twin bed next to Christopher. The book they’d been reading is haphazard on the covers like Buck had fallen asleep mid-sentence. Eddie picks it up and puts the bookmark back in his best guess of the right spot. Christopher will tell him whether it was the right place tomorrow. He leans down to kiss Christopher’s forehead: “I love you, mijo. Sleep well.” 

He’s just wondering whether to wake up Buck when his eyes flutter open and he gives a confused, breathy, _“What—”,_ like he doesn’t know where he is. Eddie puts a finger to his lips and offers his hand, and Buck carefully makes his way off of the bed. He sways a little when he stands, and Eddie frowns at him again, then leads him out of the room and quietly pulls the door shut after him, leaving it just a sliver open so he can check on Christopher later without the click of the latch waking him. 

He’s already turned off most of the lights, figuring he and Buck would watch some tv and have a beer or something before it’s reasonably late enough to go to bed, and it’s dim and calm in the hallway, everything muffled by the falling snow. Buck’s eyes are slipping closed again, even standing up. Eddie pulls him in, wrapping him up, and Buck shivers in his arms, still cold to the touch. He has so many questions, but decides that now is not the time for any of them. He gently pushes Buck toward the room where he’d put his stuff. It’s like he’s sleepwalking: toward the bed and out of his jeans and under the covers, Eddie’s sweatshirt still on. Eddie pointedly ignores the time on the clock— it’s not even nine— and turns out the lights. Quiet: “Goodnight.” 

He finds a basketball game on tv and grabs a beer and lets himself zone out, leaned back into the couch, feet up on the coffee table. The game wraps up just as his eyes are getting heavy, and he does a once-over of the house. He glances in at Christopher and finds him sound asleep. Buck’s door is still closed and the room is quiet, so he takes that as a good sign, and goes to bed. 

He comes to, disoriented, at midnight, having just made it to deep sleep and being pulled back up by a noise in the hall. “Christopher?” he calls quietly, but it’s Buck who pokes his head in the door. 

“Just me. Go back to sleep.” 

Just Buck. Probably getting up to pee. He nods vaguely and slips back under. 

He wakes to the smell of coffee, which is welcome but also unfamiliar. He tries to think back to the last time someone was up before him to make coffee. At the station, sure, there’s usually somebody up at any given hour of the night when they’re on shift. At home, though, he’s always been the first one up. When Buck stays at their place, he’ll sleep until 10 if Eddie (or more accurately, Christopher) lets him. He pulls on some clothes and peeks into Christopher’s room — still asleep — before going into the kitchen. 

“Morning.” It’s cheerful enough, but a little rough, and the smile that goes it with it is tired. Eddie knows that the face he’s making is completely unsubtle, but fuck, Buck looks just as bad as he did last night. Worse, with the way daylight shows how pale he is, the dark circles under his eyes. 

“You look like hell,” he says, and Buck’s smile falls. “Didn’t you just get, like—” he checks his watch— “ten hours of sleep?” 

Buck looks away. “I mean, I slept for a while. But then I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep, so...” He gestures at the couch, which is a mess of pillows and blankets. 

“So you slept out here?” Raised eyebrows. 

Quiet: “I tried.” 

If he heard Buck get up at midnight, then— “Wait, so that’s what, three hours?” 

“Plus a little bit in the car.” Like that’s an accomplishment.

“Jesus, Buck. And I’m assuming this isn’t the first night that’s happened?” He studies him. “How long?” 

Buck shrugs, but won’t meet his eyes. “I dunno. A little while.” 

Eddie bites his lips and tries to keep his worry from turning into anger. Before he can figure out what he’s supposed to say next, he hears Christopher coming down the hall. “We’re not done talking about this.” 

Buck doesn’t answer him, just throws open his arms to Christopher for a good morning hug. “Chris! There so much snow out there, did you see it? We’re gonna built the most awesome snowman ever today.” 

They do build a pretty epic snowman, but not until they’ve had a proper weekend breakfast with bacon and eggs and waffles with real maple syrup and have wrestled their way into their borrowed winter gear. There’s a little hill in the backyard, and they break up their snowman-building with sledding, Buck going on daredevil runs with Christopher, who screams with delight and begs him to go again, again, again. Eddie’s pulling Christopher up the hill when Buck jumps in the sled behind him, and the change of force knocks Eddie into the snow. Buck and Christopher are howling with laughter and after a moment he has to laugh at himself, too, and he’s sweating from exertion in the cold snow and his cheeks hurt from smiling and his favorite two people are coming to dogpile on him in the snowbank and everything is right with the world. 

By noon the snowman is built (taller than any of them) and they’re all rosy-cheeked and ready for lunch. They have leftover lasagna and laugh some more, and then Eddie declares it quiet time in part because he knows that Christopher’s worn out from walking in the snow and also because he knows that Buck won’t slow down unless it’s an enforced thing. 

Christopher knows that quiet time means no screens, but still takes his best shot: “Can we watch a movie, Dad? Please?” 

“Tonight, buddy. Be thinking about which one you want.” 

“’Kay.” He goes and gets his phone and settles in on the couch, and gets Buck to come join him and take the other earbud and keep listening to the space mystery. Eddie finishes putting the lunch dishes away and fits himself between Buck and the corner of the sectional with an arm around Buck and Buck’s back against his chest, and exhales. As he’d hoped, Buck does, too. Christopher’s already halfway to sleep. He’d been leaned up against Buck’s shoulder, but when Buck gives him back the other earbud, he lies all the way down on the couch, curling up under one of the blankets, and he’s out. Buck’s already got the quilt from last night wrapped around his legs; Eddie takes the third blanket from the nest and pulls it up over him and Buck, who burrows into the warmth. 

Eddie’s more letting himself float than actually sleeping, and when Christopher stirs an hour later, Eddie gets up, too. Buck blinks up at them and tries to sit up, but Eddie just shakes his head. “Hold onto it,” he tells Buck, and Buck burrows back into the couch and lets his eyes slip closed again. 

Eddie and Christopher are in the kitchen snacking on cheese and crackers and grapes when Buck reappears half an hour later, the quilt around his shoulders again. 

“I got cold without you,” he says, and from someone else the words might be passive-aggressive but from Buck they’re just plain truth. Eddie opens his arms and Buck tucks himself against him, and Eddie holds him tight. 

“Christopher, you okay if I turn up the heat a bit for Buck?” He’s so used to setting up the environment to be ideal for Christopher, whose body has always kind of struggled to regulate, that it feels weird to change it for someone else. 

“You don’t have to—” Buck starts, but Christopher cuts him off: 

“I’m good. I’ll just take off my sweatshirt if it gets too hot.” 

Eddie leaves Buck in the kitchen and goes to set the thermostat to 78, then pauses and goes for 80. With how cold it is outside, they can just open the door for a minute to bring the temperature back down. 

They settle back into the living room for a board game, and pretty soon Eddie and Christopher are in their t-shirts and Buck has dropped the blanket from his shoulders, still keeping it in his lap. When Eddie puts a hand on his arm, it’s no longer cold to the touch. With the warmth, it’s like Buck is unfreezing, muscles loosening, face relaxing. Eddie gives him a smile, and the one he gets back is genuine and unqualified for the first time in days. 

Eddie reads to Christopher that night, and Buck sits on the floor leaning up against the bed and listens with his eyes closed, and when Eddie kisses Christopher on the forehead and says goodnight Buck does too, and it’s easy, everything about this, in a way that it never, ever was with Shannon. He blinks, thinking about her. It doesn’t hurt in the same way anymore, losing her; it’s an ache rather than than a white-hot flare of pain. He will always have love for her, and for what they had in the good times, and that even in the bad times, what they had gave him Christopher. It was never easy, though, not the way this is. Never. 

He’s stopped in the doorway, watching Christopher, thinking about Shannon, and Buck’s looking at him from the hallway with a question mark in his eyebrows and his lips. Eddie shakes his head and goes to get two beers. Turns on the game. He settles onto the couch with his feet on the coffee table, but Buck doesn’t sit down. He’s pacing, moving to the kitchen and the entryway and back, like there’s something out of place but he can’t quite figure out what. Eddie follows him with his eyes. At the next commercial break, Eddie mutes the tv. “Buck.” 

“Mm.” He’s still on the move, not meeting Eddie’s eyes. 

Eddie wants to get up and drag him to the couch by force, but resists. “Are you going to come sit down?” 

“I—” He looks so lost. 

“You don’t have to.” That’s his check-mate move, and it works, like it almost always does with Christopher. 

“Yeah, okay.” Buck perches on the far end of the couch, still staring off into space.

“You idiot. Get over here.” 

Buck blinks a few times, like he’s coming to, and looks around. “Oh. Right.” With a little more encouragement, he gets settled beside Eddie with his feet on the coffee table as well, just in time for the commercial break to end. Eddie unmutes the tv, but keeps the volume low. The second beer, meant for Buck, sits untouched near their feet. 

“I was going to offer you that beer, but it somehow seems like that would be irresponsible at this point,” Eddie tells him, and Buck just hums softly in reply. “Yeah,” Eddie confirms. “Okay, that one’s mine now. Do you want some water?” 

He doesn’t really get a reply, which kind of makes the decision for him. 

“Water it is.” He stops on the way back from the kitchen, water in hand, to just look at Buck for a minute. He’d been fine before they left, right? He tries to think back. They hadn’t seen as much of each other as normal in the past week. He’s genuinely not sure. Well, in any case, here’s where they are now. He turns down the lights, takes his spot on the couch again, and hands the water to Buck, who tries to put it on the coffee table. “Nope,” Eddie tells him. “Not optional.” 

Buck doesn’t fight him on it, just shrugs the blanket back over his shoulders and holds the glass in both hands in between tiny sips. By the time the quarter ends, he’s made it through half of the water in the glass and his hands are shaking. 

“Okay.” Eddie takes the glass out of his hands and puts it next to the beer bottles. He’s finished his first but hasn’t opened his second, and at this point, it’s looking pretty unlikely that he will. “C’mere.” 

It takes some rearranging, but they eventually get settled back in the corner of the sectional, like they were in the afternoon, Buck’s back to Eddie’s chest, Eddie’s arm around him. He turns the volume on the tv down so low they can barely hear it, and breathes with Buck in the dimness. 

“You remember how I said we were gonna talk about this?” He gets the smallest shrug as a reply. “Okay, well, it’s time. Talk to me.” 

For a minute he thinks he’s not going to get anything, but he just lets the silence stretch until Buck has to fill it. 

“I just— haven’t been sleeping well.” Eddie doesn’t reply; lets the silence pull more words from Buck. “Or, like. At all. I mean, a little bit.” He shifts against Eddie, like he’s trying to hide the truth. 

“Yeah?” 

“So, like.” He looks at the ceiling. “You know last week, or I guess the week before last now, when you left shift early to go to Christopher’s thing at school?” 

“I remember.” He’s trying to put the pieces together. 

“So there was this call.” He shudders. “Just a really bad call. And it kinda fucked up my sleep. And here we are.” 

Eddie opens his mouth to ask what he’s talking about, because he’d been back for the next shift with everyone else and he hadn’t heard anything about a really bad call. He knew it hadn’t exactly been quiet in his absence, but that’s normal, that’s L.A. He can feel Buck trying to push it all away again, though, so he settles on, “Do you wanna... tell me about it? The call?” 

Buck’s shaking his head before Eddie even finishes the question. 

“Okay.” Eddie runs a hand through Buck’s short hair. “So you try to sleep, and...?” 

“And I can’t.” It comes out defensive. “Like, I’m so tired, so tired I can’t _think,_ and I lay down in bed and it just—” He’s shaking again. 

“And it all comes rushing back?” 

Quiet, broken. “Yeah.” 

Eddie just holds him for a moment, trying to figure out where to go next. “I mean, you were sleeping on the drive up, right? And this afternoon?” His palm is flat on Buck’s chest under the blanket, and he’s keeping time with the sweep of his hand, back and forth, over his heart. 

Buck shrugs. “It’s not as bad during the day. Like, I still can’t really sleep, but at least it’s light and I can just get up and I’m not stuck in the dark alone.” 

_Ah._ So there it is. “It’s not as bad when you’re not alone?” 

Buck shrugs again, trying to play it off, but the wistfulness in his voice gives him away. “Yeah.” 

“So then you’re not gonna be alone.” 

“But—” 

“But what? You and Christopher gave me the king-size bed, there’s a whole half of it that’s just sitting there unused.” It’s not like they’ve never slept in the same bed, or couch, or tent, but it’s always been late-night happenstance, or just logistics. It’s never been— premeditated. 

“I don’t want to mess up your sleep.” He twists around to look back at Eddie. “And don’t tell me I won’t, because even if it’s better, it’s still gonna be bad.” 

Eddie half-laughs and ticks off the list with his fingers tapping against Buck’s chest: “Army; firefighting; kid. If anyone can handle being woken up in the night, I think it’s me.” 

Buck makes a sound like he’s casting around for another excuse and not finding it, or not really wanting to find it but feeling like he should. 

“Seriously. I’m not taking no for an answer. Well,” he amends, “I’m not taking no for a bullshit reason. Only if it’s what you really want.” 

So low he can barely hear it: “It’s not.” 

“Okay then.” He straightens up a little bit, trying to stretch out his back without disturbing Buck. “So do you want to do that now, or?” 

Buck shakes his head and burrows deeper under the blankets. Eddie had turned down the heat a bit so they’d all be able to sleep, but the house is still pretty warm. “We can finish the game.” He can tell that Eddie’s going to tell him they don’t have to, and rephrases. “I want to finish the game.” 

“Okay.” Eddie turns the volume up a bit so that the commentary is more than a dull buzz. 

Eddie gets ready in the en-suite master bathroom and Buck in the bathroom in the hallway, and there’s a minute where Eddie’s not sure Buck’s actually going to follow through, but he does come in and climbs in on the other side of the bed. Glances at Eddie, and then away. 

“Do you want the lights on?” 

Buck hesitates. “Maybe just the bathroom light.” 

“You got it.” 

They lay in silence for a while on their separate halves of the bed, and then Buck turns over on his stomach and Eddie slides down in bed and rests his hand on his back and it’s like they both exhale. Eddie dozes and Buck tosses and turns and eventually they’re face-to-face, knees drawn up, mirror images, one of Eddie’s hands resting on both of Buck’s. Buck’s breathing evens out and Eddie lets himself fall into real sleep, and as he does some far-off part of his brain thinks, _See, that wasn’t so hard,_ and then he’s out.

He wakes to panicked breathing and a mad scramble to get free of the sheets, and footsteps running for the en-suite, and the thud of Buck’s knees on the bathroom floor. There’s a beat just long enough to give Eddie a flicker of hope, and then the retching starts. _Shit._ He scrubs his hands over his face and takes stock: 2:37 a.m. There’s a mostly-empty water glass on the nightstand on Buck’s side of the bed. He grabs it, and his own phone, and the quilt that Buck had brought with him to bed, and makes his way across the room. 

Buck’s shaking hard, spitting in the aftermath, fumbling with his eyes closed for the handle to flush. Eddie gets it for him, and then wraps the blanket around his shoulders, fills the glass halfway, and sits beside him on the floor. Gets the water glass into his hands. Buck’s willing to rinse his mouth, but Eddie can’t convince him to actually take a sip. He’s muttering something that Eddie can’t parse at first, but then it clicks: _“Christopher, check on Christopher.”_

“He’s good, Buck, he’s fine; I’m sure he didn’t even wake up.” Soothing, his hand rubbing up and down Buck’s back through the blanket. 

_“No—”_ So forceful it threatens to set off another round, and Buck has to stop and pull himself back together. “Just— check on him. _Please_.” 

The way Buck says it, desperate, begging, makes Eddie go cold. “Okay. Okay, I’ll be right back.” One more glance at Buck shaking on the floor, and then he crosses to the hallway as quickly as he can while staying quiet. Takes a second to breathe. Gently pushes open Christopher’s door. 

Christopher blinks at him in the darkness. “Are you okay? I heard something.” Sleepy and slurred. 

“Yeah, buddy. Buck’s not feeling very good, but he’s gonna be okay.” 

Christopher starts to sit up. “Does he want me to listen to my book again with him?” 

Eddie smiles in spite of everything. “Not right now, mijo. Maybe in the morning. Go back to sleep.” 

Christopher yawns and lays back down. “Okay. Love you.” 

“Love you.” 

“And tell Buck, too.” 

_This kid._ “I will.” He closes the door, all the way this time, and goes back to the master. Pulls that door shut, too, just to block the sound a little more. 

Buck is panting when he gets back, leaned back against the wall, eyes closed, slick with sweat.

“Did it happen again?”

“Yeah.” He swallows convulsively. “How’s Chris?” 

“He’s fine. Would have come in here right now if I’d let him. Says to tell you that he loves you, and that he’ll keep you entertained with more of that space book tomorrow.” 

Buck nods, eyes closed, lips tight, and doesn’t quite succeed in trying not to sob. 

“Here, just—” Eddie turns on a lamp in the bedroom and then, when he gets a nod from Buck, turns off the overhead light in the bathroom. When he sits back down on the floor, Buck practically falls into him. _“Okay,”_ he’s murmuring, because it’s all he’s got. _“Okay.”_ He runs his fingers through Buck’s hair again. Buck’s far too warm, and it’s hard to tell if it’s fever or exertion. Nothing they can do about either possibility right now. 

There’s one more round that’s mostly dry heaving, painful and raw, and then some time there together on the floor that stretches out so that Eddie can’t even take a guess at how long it’s been. Buck’s still shaking in his arms, but it’s the trembling chills of either fever or the cold tiles or both, not the jolts of the adrenaline surges and let-downs like before, and his breath is evening out. 

“What do you think, do you want to get up off this floor?” 

Buck pulls in an experimental breath. “Yeah. Just.” He voice is a wreck. “Might want to get—” He stops there, jaw clenched tight, but Eddie nods. 

“Gotcha.” He goes out to the kitchen and comes up with a couple of grocery bags to line the bedroom trash can, just in case, and some crackers that seem reasonably bland, and Buck’s water bottle so they don’t have to worry about spilling from the glass. 

Buck lets Eddie pull him to his feet. Eddie goes as slow as he can, but Buck’s face still loses the little color it had. Eddie gets him set up in the bed with water and crackers and blankets and the trash can and a towel over his pillow. Buck just curls in on himself and stares up at Eddie like he’s watching it all happen to someone else. 

Eddie sits next to him on the edge of the bed and cups Buck’s jaw in his hands, then gets a palm on his forehead for a count of four. He’s warm, but not all that much warmer than Eddie, so, hard to tell. “Do you feel like you have a fever?” 

“I feel like shit.” He coughs a little bit. Makes a face. Takes a sip of water. “But I... it’s...” He’s not meeting Eddie’s eyes again. “Not the first time it’s... I’ve. This. Or— last week.” 

Eddie leans back, trying to assemble the pieces into a coherent sentence. “This... goes with the not sleeping?” 

“Yeah.” 

Under his breath: “Jesus, Buck.” 

Buck’s eyes fill with tears again. “I’m sorry! Okay?” The words rushing out of him like they’ve been just under the surface this whole time. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve come. I fucked it all up.” 

“Shut up.” He takes a steadying breath, trying to tamp down the swell of anger at the way Buck talks to and about himself. “Talk to me.” 

“Can’t do both.” Muttered, with a flicker of Buck’s usual fire. 

He rolls his eyes. Another breath. “Okay. So, not a stomach bug?” God, he hopes not, or all three of them will have it by the end of the weekend. “Are we talking, like, a panic attack, or...?” 

Buck’s cheeks burn. “Yeah.” Barely loud enough to hear. “I think. That would... match.” 

“Buck.” He’s trying to stay calm, but it’s getting harder by the moment. “Are you telling me that there was a call so bad that you’ve been having nightmares and panic attacks until you puke, for two weeks straight, and that you—” incredulous— “didn’t _tell_ me about it? About any of it?” 

“A week and a half.” It’s a whisper. 

“That doesn’t make it better!” He realizes he’s raised his voice. Sets his jaw to keep from yelling any more. His blood pressure is spiking, heartbeat sawing, like he’s drunk on adrenaline and righteous anger. Like this is something he can fix through sheer rage. 

“Can we—” Buck’s voice is small. “Can we not do this right now?” 

_Fuck._ “Yeah.” He scrubs his hands over his hair. “Sorry.” Now he’s the one pacing. “Just— give me a minute.” He needs to _do_ something about all of this, but the options are pretty limited. He finds some Clorox wipes under the kitchen sink and wipes down every surface in the bathroom. Washes his hands. Takes a drink of water and stares at himself in the mirror. Forces his heartbeat to slow. Okay, okay, okay. 

Buck’s still curled in the bed, as far to the edge as he can get, watching him. Eddie sighs. 

“Lights on or off?” 

“Off.” A pause. Quiet: “My head hurts.” 

“I bet.” Gentler, now. Coming down. He goes back around the room, turning off the lamp and pulling the bathroom door most of the way closed so that the light he’d turned on to clean is a dim beacon in the darkness. “Think you could keep some painkillers down?” 

Buck considers. “Yeah.” 

Eddie gets some from his bag, and Buck swallows them with a little water and, at Eddie’s insistence, two crackers. By the end of it, he’s wrung out. Eddie’s managed to stop pacing and come sit next to him, back against the headboard, on his own side of the bed. “Anything else I can do?” 

“No.” Miserable. He glances at Eddie. “Maybe.” 

“Yeah.” 

And then he’s got Buck coming undone in his arms, holding onto him like a drowning man, like the dam that’s been keeping all of this back for so many days is giving way, cracking slowly and then crashing down, and it’s all pouring out of him in heaving sobs and half-formed words. Eddie holds him, and waits, and murmurs, _I’ve got you, I’m here,_ until Buck eventually regains his breath enough to wipe his face with the towel that had been covering his pillow and to bury himself back in Eddie’s embrace. 

“It was—” his voice wavers— “it was a kid, okay? He couldn’t get out, and I found him, and he looked just like Christopher, covered in soot and ash and everything and not, not _breathing,_ and he, and they said that he made it, that he’s gonna be okay, but goddamn it, Eddie, when I carried him out of that house he was fucking _dead in my arms_ —” He breaks off, trying to get a full breath in, trying to stay in control. 

There’s this rising anger that no one there had clocked it, but then again, why would they have? The call was intense but routine; everyone got out alive. And another surge of anger at Buck for not just _telling_ him. Telling anyone. After everything that’s happened he knows Buck doesn’t want to look weak, but _still_. He forces himself to breathe, to do what a therapist once told him and to brave a look under that anger, and what he finds is guilt. He makes himself to hold onto it, to not just go back to easy rage. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, finally. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” 

Buck’s shaking his head, “No, it’s not—” 

“I know. But I’m still fucking sorry, Buck. It doesn’t have to be rational. I just am.” 

Buck sniffles and nods against him, and Eddie rubs his back under the quilt that he hasn’t let go of through all of it. “You don’t have to sleep,” he tells him quietly. “Just rest. I’ve got you.” He gets a shaky exhale in return. “Do you want to listen to something? Music? Podcast?” 

“Yeah.” Breathy. 

Eddie’s not sure which one he wants, but it’s clear that Buck is done making decisions for the foreseeable future. Eddie scrolls through his phone and finds a playlist that looks promising enough. He falls asleep with Buck on his chest and Hozier singing in his ear:   
_I wouldn’t know where to start_  
_Sweet music playing in the dark_  
_Be still, my foolish heart_  
_Don’t ruin this on me._

  
Morning is better, as he knew it would be. Buck is quiet and shaky, but he’s got a little color back, and he’s getting some orange juice down. 

“Buck!” Christopher’s smile is like the sun when he comes into the kitchen, and he goes in for the hug without hesitation. Eddie starts to tell him to wait, that they don’t know for sure that Buck’s not contagious, but before he can get the words out Christopher’s got his arms wrapped around Buck’s waist and Buck is half-sobbing with relief, so he lets it be. 

Christopher steps back and looks up at Buck. “Dad said you were sick. Did you puke?” 

Buck swipes at his tears with the back of his wrist and laughs at the bluntness of the question. “Yeah. A couple of times.” 

“Eww.” Christopher wrinkles his nose, but looks like maybe he wants to ask for more details, a perfectly nine-year-old mix of disgust and fascination. 

“I’m okay, though,” Buck tells him, and Christopher nods, satisfied. 

“We’re going to take it easy today.” Eddie raises his eyebrows at Christopher, but he’s talking to Buck, too. “No roughhousing in the snow.” 

“Okayyy.” Disappointment, and then Christopher’s eyes light up. “Movie day!” 

Eddie laughs ruefully. “Okay, you’ve got me there. Yes, movie day.” 

“Yesss.” Christopher tugs on Buck’s hand to get him to follow him into the living room. “Dad, can we have your phone? We’ve gotta pick out what to watch.” 

“Don’t you want some breakfast?” 

_“Movie day,”_ Christopher repeats with the perfect cadence of, _Jeez, Dad, come on,_ and Eddie puts up his hands in surrender. 

“Okay!” He hands over his phone and, apparently, all control of the day. “Alright, good sirs, welcome to Café Diaz. What do you want on your toast?” 

“PB and J, please!” Christopher calls over his shoulder, already halfway to the couch. 

“Buck?” 

He gets a shrug in return, so he makes Buck one slice of toast with a thin layer of peanut butter and another with an even thinner layer of butter in the hopes that at least one of them will sound palatable, and then makes Christopher’s PB&J and a toasted ham and cheese for himself. By the time he brings all three plates and napkins and glasses out to the living room, Christopher has some Disney show cued up— “It’s good, Dad, I promise”— and then they’re laughing at a show that is, he admits, pretty good for what it is, and Buck’s eyes are slipping closed again. 

Buck sleeps for two hours, leaned up against Eddie with Christopher pressed against his other side. That seems to be the key— that whenever Buck’s eyes start to flutter open, they’re both right there, and he can exhale and slip back under again. Eventually, though, Christopher gets bored of sitting still (and really, Eddie will be eternally grateful for a kid who gets bored of watching television), and pulls out his latest science kit to work on on the floor. It has dinosaurs to assemble, in both fossilized and non-fossilized form, with cards about each species that Christopher reads from enthusiastically. Apparently dinosaurs have gotten feathers since Eddie was a kid. Weird, the way things you thought were certain can shift under your feet. 

Buck blinks at the absence of Christopher by his side, and Eddie runs a hand up and down his arm. “He’s right there. Learning about dinosaurs.” Buck nods and lets his eyes slip closed again, and then open, and he sighs in frustration. 

“Hey,” Eddie says. “You’re okay. You’re not failing by being awake.” He’s learned that Buck needs to hear that sort of thing out loud. He presses his lips to Buck’s temple. “What do you think, should we see if that’s a fever?” 

Buck shakes his head, just a little. “Not right now.” His voice is still a little shaky, like when the dam came down it unleashed a poison that he’s going to have to sweat out, and it’s still coursing through his veins. 

“Well, here’s the thing,” Eddie tells him seriously, then lightens up. “I really have to pee, so _you_ don’t have to get up, but _I_ definitely do.” Christopher giggles at that from his spot on the floor, and Buck manages a huff of a laugh as well. Eddie grins. “Be right back.” 

When he comes back, he brings the thermometer from the first aid kit (he’d learned pretty early on with Christopher that it was better to be prepared) and hands it over. Christopher looks up, concerned. “Are you still not feeling good, Buck?” 

Buck already has the thermometer under his tongue, so Eddie answers for him. “Just checking, kiddo.” 

Buck silently hands him the thermometer. 99.9. In the morning, too, which makes it feel inevitable that it’s got nowhere to go but up. “Not bad, not great,” Eddie says, half to himself and half to Buck. 

Christopher’s got a half-assembled dinosaur in his hands. “What’s it say, Dad?” 

“It says that we’re definitely sticking with movie day,” and then, leaning down to Christopher on his way by, “and that Buck could use some hugs if you’ve got ’em.” Christopher’s pushing his way up and back to the couch before Eddie even gets to the kitchen sink. 

Buck sleeps through most of movie day, sandwiched between Eddie and Christopher on the couch. His fever rises and then starts to fall, and when he wakes up he’s a little sniffly and a little achy, and Eddie privately concludes that Buck’s immune system must be freaking the fuck out at finally getting some rest. They do go outside for a little bit, wrapped in blankets around the fire pit as the sun goes down, roasting hotdogs for dinner and marshmallows for s’mores for dessert. The air is clean and crisp and the view is otherworldly compared with L.A., and Eddie takes far too many pictures and looks at his lockscreen for a few extra seconds every time he picks up his phone. There are these thoughts he’s having about _this, forever,_ that he doesn’t quite know how to process. He settles on just— not, for now, and soaks in the warmth from the fire. 

Buck gets quiet again after dinner, fidgeting and anxious. Eddie looks him up and down and starts asking the question before he’s even really finished the thought: “What do you say, Christopher, campout in the living room tonight?” 

“Yeah!” Christopher’s instantly bouncing with excitement. He pauses, eyes wide. “With _guard dinosaurs_.” 

Eddie bursts out laughing and Christopher’s beaming, putting the finishing touches on the third dinosaur from his kit. 

“Guard dinosaurs,” Buck says, shaking his head in wonder, voice choked and eyes shining. “Christopher Diaz, you’re magic.” 

Christopher grins, self-assured. “I know.” 

Eddie brings in the mattress from Christopher’s bed and sets it up where the coffee table had been, leaving just enough room to walk around it in the L of the couch. He gathers up every pillow and blanket in the house and Buck and Christopher arrange them in nests on the couch and on Christopher’s mattress. Eddie has to draw the line at hanging a sheet from the ceiling fan like a tent, mostly because he can’t guarantee that it wouldn’t fall down on all of them at one a.m. Buck takes the part of the couch parallel to Christopher’s mattress, and Eddie takes the other side of the L, head-to-head with Buck. Buck can see them both, reach them both, reassure himself that they’re there. They leave the hallway light on and turn off the rest. 

“We should live up here,” Christopher says into the dimness once they’re all settled. “Not all the time. I still want to see tía and abuela and everyone at school. But sometimes. Like on weekends. And school breaks. We could come up in the summer, too. Did you see the lake when we drove up?” 

Eddie laughs softly. “Believe me, mijo, if I could afford a house up here I’d be all over it.” 

“Yeah, okay. Someday, though.” Christopher’s got his guard dinosaurs set up in a semicircle in front of his mattress. Eddie can see his eyes starting to close in the light from the hall. 

“Someday,” Eddie agrees. He listens to Christopher breathe in the silence, the way he’s done so many nights, until he’s sure he’s asleep, then turns to Buck. “You doing okay?” 

Buck nods, eyes heavy but lips working between his teeth. 

“I’ve got you,” Eddie tells him. “We’ve got you.” He smiles. “Christopher’s even got his guard dinosaurs protecting you.” 

Buck sniffles, and Eddie reaches over and takes his hand. Quiet, quiet, quiet. Then— 

“We could.” Hoarse, but steady. 

“Mm?” 

“We could afford it.” Buck stops to cough, and picks his thought back up. “Between the two of us. Not a house like this, not up here. But a cabin? With woods and somewhere to swim? Somewhere it snows?” He’s quiet. His hand is warm in Eddie’s. “We could do it.” 

Eddie’s not too asleep to do the mental math, which says that it still wouldn’t be in reach, but he decides it’s not the time to point that out. _Unless,_ some part of him whispers. Unless it’s not his mortgage and Buck’s rent and another place on top of it. Unless. He has this flash of all of them together in the house in L.A., Buck’s stuff moved in and mixed with theirs, and of a cabin in the woods in the summertime, the two of them teaching Christopher how to fish, and in the winter, endless weekends like this one. He’s thrilled and terrified and he wants it in a way that he hasn’t wanted anything in a very, very long time. He doesn’t know how he would even start to say any of that out loud, though, so he just squeezes Buck’s hand instead. 

There are some long hours in the middle of the night where neither of them sleep. Eddie turns music on, low enough not to wake Christopher, and watches Buck breathe through the fear, and then, when he can’t take it anymore, pace through the house with that quilt wrapped around his shoulders. When Buck reappears in the hallway a third time, shaking his head, Eddie gets up too and follows him into the master bedroom, and wraps him up in a hug. Buck blows out a frustrated breath, shuddering and congested. “I know,” Eddie murmurs into his hair. “It sucks.” Buck pulls away just enough to sneeze into his blanket, and Eddie sighs. “That part, too.” It seems like Buck’s nebulous immune system freak-out is settling into a cold, which is honestly kind of a relief to Eddie: if they’re going to add another problem to the list, at least it’s one he knows how to handle. He gets the box of tissues in the bathroom and hands it over, and then wordlessly coaxes Buck back to the couch. He picks up one of the guard dinosaurs on the way by— the non-fossilized, feathered kind— and presses it into Buck’s hand. Buck holds it like a talisman in the dark. 

Buck is finally, fitfully asleep when the sun comes up, and Eddie manages another hour or two as well. Christopher beams with pride when he wakes up and sees the guard dinosaur gripped in Buck’s hand. Eddie hugs him good morning and kisses the top of his head. “You’re so good, mijo,” he tells him. “So good.” Christopher shrugs like he doesn’t see what the big deal is, just hugs him back and then goes to get the other two dinosaurs to give to Buck. 

He lets Christopher pick what to do with their last morning, and the answer is more sledding, which under the current circumstances means that Eddie and Christopher sled and Buck watches from the deck, grinning and taking videos of their best sledding runs and coughing into his scarf. They fix up the snowman so that it’s there to greet whoever’s coming to the cabin next— Christopher oversees Eddie stomping out “Welcome!” in the snow in front of it, and puts the dot on the exclamation point himself— and then they go back inside, because they have to be out by eleven and that’s coming up faster than any of them want. 

Christopher sits in the middle back spot in the truck so that Buck can recline his seat, and Buck sleeps most of the way home, waking up to blow his nose and cough into his sleeve and to blink in confusion when they stop at the same gas station as before. “Figured we could use a break before we get back into traffic,” Eddie tells him, and he gets a closed-eyed nod in return. 

It turns out to be a good idea, because all the people who left L.A. on Friday seem to be coming back into the city with them now, driving west into the blinding early-afternoon sun. Christopher has long since gone back to his audiobook— almost done, he reports, and all of his theories were right— and is happily crunching on snacks with his sunglasses and headphones on. When they finally hit bumper-to-bumper traffic, Eddie curses under his breath, then very deliberately counts to three and settles in for the long haul. He turns to Buck, who’s got his eyes closed tight behind his sunglasses, breathing shallowly. He brushes his fingers over Buck’s forehead, and Buck pulls off his sunglasses and presses Eddie’s hand over his eyes instead. 

“Headache?” Eddie asks quietly. Buck nods, just barely, a motion so small that Eddie feels rather than sees it. “Carsick?” They’re in the center lane and it’s going to take some pretty aggressive moves to get to the shoulder if that’s where they’re at. Buck shakes his head a tiny bit and Eddie breathes a sigh of relief. “Just kinda feel like shit?” He can really hear the congestion, now; he wouldn’t be surprised if it’s a sinus headache as much as anything else. That gets a slightly more emphatic nod. Eddie reclaims the use of his hand, which gets him a small noise of protest, and digs around in the center console. He comes up with a squashed baseball cap and a bottle of painkillers. He offers both to Buck, who shakes out a couple of pills and swallows them with a swig from his water bottle, then pulls the hat down low over his eyes and exhales. He’s still got that blanket over him, the one from the trip up that he’s claimed as his own. Eddie takes his hand, interlacing their fingers and keeping his thumb moving over Buck’s, and does his best to keep his eyes on the road. 

They make it home with plenty of light still left, and the moment Eddie says yes, Christopher’s in their neighbors’ yard playing with their dog. Eddie waves to Susan and Geraldo, who wave back, just as excited to have an honorary grandkid as Christopher is to have an honorary pet, and then starts unloading the truck. He gets the first load in the house before Buck even gets his door open, and his next trip is spent coaxing Buck onto the couch. 

“I can help,” Buck tells him weakly. “I just need a minute, and then I’ll help you bring everything in, and then whenever you’re ready you can take me home. Or I can get an Uber. It’s fine.” 

Eddie crosses his arms and studies him. “First of all, I’m going to have all the bags in here before you can even stand back up, so no, you won’t be helping with that. Second of all, if you can look me in the eye and tell me that you’d truly rather be alone in your apartment than here with us, I’ll drive you back myself.” He waits, arms still crossed. 

Buck doesn’t meet his eye. “I just—” so low and fast that Eddie almost doesn’t catch it— “dontwannabeaburden.”

“Jesus, Buck,” Eddie breathes, and sits down beside him on the couch. Then, more forceful: “Look at me.” Buck does, grudgingly. “Let me tell you how this family works. We take care of each other, okay? And maybe the way I take care of Christopher is more obvious to the outside world than the way he takes care of me, but it all goes together. So.” He grabs Buck’s hand and holds it tight. “Let us take care of you when you need it, which you do, and then when one of us needs it, which we inevitably will, you can do the same. Right?” 

There are tears in Buck’s eyes again, and when he closes them one slips out. Eddie swipes it away with his thumb, and it’s hot against his skin. “Right?” he asks again, both gentler and more insistent. 

“Yeah,” Buck breathes. 

Eddie rests his forehead against Buck’s for a moment, then stands up. “I’m doing laundry tonight, so you’ll have clean clothes; you already have a toothbrush here, and actually, everything from the weekend, so... is there anything you need from your place?” 

Buck shakes his head and lets himself sink back into the couch. 

“Okay.” Eddie heads for door to keep unloading the truck. “I’m texting Bobby to tell him that you’re putting in for a sick day tomorrow and that if you show up anyway he’s not allowed to let you in the door.” 

He gets something like a squawk in return, and laughs as he goes out to get the next round of bags. Buck is lying down on the couch when he comes back inside, and he reaches up to grab Eddie’s arm when Eddie goes by. “Thank you.” 

Eddie squeezes his hand and goes back to unloading and unpacking. Eventually, he calls Christopher back inside and they all crowd onto the couch together while Christopher retells every adventure that Skye the golden retriever has apparently had in their absence, and _this, forever,_ feels close enough to taste. He’s going to talk to Buck about it, once Buck’s feeling better. The house, and the cabin, and, he decides, making some unspoken things thrillingly, terrifyingly known. 

“You’re staying, right, Buck?” Christopher asks, interrupting his own story to make sure, looking intently at Buck from beside him on the couch. 

“Yeah.” Buck ruffles Christopher’s hair and slips his hand back into Eddie’s, and there’s this glow from his boys, from being here together, that fills up Eddie’s lungs. Buck runs a hand over the quilt, and looks around the house, and smiles. “I am.” 

. . .  
. . .


End file.
